


overtone, undertone, or how keith messed up (but not really).

by oaseas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Keith isn't actually oblivious he's just half in denial, Lance isn't actually an asshole like keith thinks he's just awkward w/ dealing w/ his crush, M/M, Stolen Hoody, keith's pov, light angst at one stage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8260666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oaseas/pseuds/oaseas
Summary: When Keith steals Lance's hoody as revenge for how god damn annoying he is, he certainly doesn't expect it to backfire like this.





	

Keith isn’t quite sure why Lance is always an asshole to him. When questioned, Shiro says it’s “because he’s jealous, Keith” in that kind, sympathetic way of his. Pidge says, “I don’t want to talk about your weird sexual tension with Lance, Keith,” which is quite obviously bullshit, as there’s nothing sexual about their tension at all. Hunk says, “I honestly have no idea. Have you tried talking to him? That’s a thing you could do, instead of asking me, I guess,” which is useless but a decent point. And Lance? Lance just explodes into another rant about how Keith definitely knows what he’s doing to annoy Lance, and that Lance “isn’t an idiot, Keith”. Keith begs to differ, really.

The fact is, Keith doesn’t know why Lance is so horrible towards him, but he is _definitely_ sick of it. So when he sees Lance’s hoody draped over the back of a couch, clearly discarded and forgotten for the moment, he takes it. His anger justifies the way he scurries back to his room, taking the longest route to make sure he doesn’t accidentally encounter anyone. He has no idea where to hide it, honestly, and so he tosses it on his bed for the time being. It’s not as though anyone ever comes in here, so no one will know he has it.

Of course, Keith’s life is terrible and noble and pretty damn important, so he has barely any time to debate what to do with the hoody before Allura’s voice echoes throughout the castle, commanding they get in their lions and deal with the daily bullshit. Alright, well, she had said it in a nicer way; Keith’s just a little angry today, honestly. The mission helps drain his anger, however, and it isn’t long before he’s genuinely enjoying himself. Keith and Pidge tag-team for a while, the two of them distracting the Galran fleet rather easily with Keith built for speed and Pidge’s ingenious cloaking devices. Keith doesn’t even realise how quiet Lance has been until he’s nearly hit from behind.

“Watch it, Keith,” Lance shouts, concern bleeding into his tone, but Keith mistakes it for irritation. Gritting his teeth he reminds himself that hey, there’s a whole load of Galra hanging around right now, so surely one of them will take Lance out soon, and even if they don’t, (Keith privately, _desperately_ hopes none of them do), he has Lance’s jacket, so _ha_. Joke’s on you, McClain.

His internal gloating is soon cut short by Coran demanding they concentrate and by the time the mission is over, Keith is too tired to do anything other than high-five Pidge, bump shoulders with Hunk, accept Allura’s praise, Coran’s grin, Shiro’s hair-ruffle and Lance’s boisterous laughter. It’s when he finally gets back to his room, eyes heavy and feet dragging that he remembers.

Keith’s eyes fly open. A zipper digs into his cheek. The smell of almond and something earthy caresses his senses. _Lance’s jacket_. He struggles to sit upright, a battle he loses awfully quickly as he’s just too tired to really care. In the end he ends up strewn across it, one hand curled in the fabric after he’d given up on trying to pull it out from underneath his body. Whatever, he thinks, he’ll get rid of it in the morning. Maybe he can hide it behind a control panel somewhere?

* * *

When Keith wakes up in the morning it’s to silence, as usual. It’s unnerving and horrible and so he quickly tugs on his shoes and gives his clothes a quick smell test. Yeah, they’re rank. He wonders if he can beat his previous shower record of forty seconds as he idly fiddles with the controls and, upon scrubbing his body down and wetting his hair thoroughly, eyes up Lance’s jacket still strewn across his bed. As he lathers his hair with shampoo, a thought comes to mind. He’ll hide it for a while, and then, when Lance has given up on finding it, he’ll wear it into the main room and pretend like he has no idea who it belongs to. Maybe he’ll wear it around his room, he thinks, remembering the smell of almond. His cheeks darken.

“It’s only to make it smell like me,” he tries to convince himself. “To – Only to make it smell different. That’ll really anger him. He won’t want to wear it if it smells like me.” 

Later that morning finds Keith sparring with the droids, sweat dripping from his forehead and rolling down his neck. He groans as the droid’s arm connects with his torso and sends him stumbling backwards. God, he’s tired. Too tired for this. Nevertheless he gets back up and launches forwards.

“Eat shit,” he gasps, and runs his sword straight across its chest. The deactivation lights spark within a second and Keith is left stumbling forwards, sword wedged in its metal. “Shit,” he murmurs, and braces himself to tug it backwards. The door swings open just as it comes free and so, as Lance walks in, Keith lands heavily on his ass, staring up at him.

“Well,” Lance says, blinking. “This is a surprise.” A devilish grin soon seeps across his lips, though he’s not really looking at Keith, more like through him, as though he’s deep in thought. For some reason the thought that Lance is too distracted to pay Keith full attention annoys him. “Never thought I’d see the day where your ass got handed to you so badly by a droid.”

“It’s off. I deactivated it,” Keith growls, and Lance only waves his hand about idly.

“Semantics, babe,” he retorts, but his eyes aren’t on Keith anymore. Instead, they’re roaming the room as though he’s searching for something, always searching but never finding what remains just out of reach. “Hey,” Lance asks after a second, “Have you seen my jacket?” 

Pleasure curls low in Keith’s gut when he recalls the way he’d left it folded on his bed earlier that morning after shrugging it over the very same shirt he’s currently wearing. Hah, he thinks. You’re not getting it back for a while, McClain.

“No,” he instead says, bottling up his glee behind an eye roll. “I haven’t seen your stupid jacket.” 

“Huh,” Lance frowns and turns to head back out the door. He pauses at the frame and turns on his heel, pointing a finger straight at Keith. “My jacket is _not_ stupid, by the way! It’s better than a dumb _crop top._ ”

“Hunk wears a crop top jacket,” Keith deadpans. “Are you telling me Hunk’s jacket is dumb?”

Lance pales and then shakes his head slowly. “A monster,” he says weakly. “Your stupid jacket has created a monster.” Keith rolls his eyes and watches Lance exit, mumbling about bad fashion choices and how Hunk totally pulls off the look. Whatever, Keith thinks. He’s about to head back to his room and wear that stupid jacket again whilst Lance’s searches for it, so _there_.

* * *

Despite how frustrating Lance’s constant goading, non-stop babbling, and near endless joking is, Keith has decided the silence is far worse. At least when Lance is awake he can respond to Keith’s jabs, but when he’s unconscious, the dim, blue light of the healing pod is the only thing proving he’s alive. It’s not nearly as fun for Keith to talk smack to an unresponsive pod. In fact, Keith realises, he feels pretty damn miserable about the whole thing.

“Hurry up and heal,” he mutters to himself, resting his hand on the glass of the pod. “I hate when you get all quiet,” he adds, “because then the castle gets quiet. It’s not the same without you being a pain in my ass.” Keith’s eyes trace the line of Lance’s body, the way he fills out the white suit, the stark contrast of his normally expressive face lying lax, the barely there rise of his chest. Instead of feeling vindictive pleasure Keith just feels upset, scared, alone. It’s not a good feeling. 

“Hurry up and heal so I can call you annoying to your face,” Keith grumbles and then he slumps and leans forward. Forehead pressed against the glass, he allows his eyes to slip shut. “ _Please_ wake up soon,” he says, quieter. “It’s been four days and I can’t quite remember what you sound like when you laugh.” And that scares him, really. It’s the fear that forces him upright once more. “And I want to mock that hyena cackle again, so … so wake up.” 

Eventually he forces himself away from the pod before he can embarrass himself further. The problem is, he thinks miserably, as he curls down into his mattress, Lance’s jacket tugged over his bare torso, his shoes discarded by the door (he hasn’t slept fully clothed in a while, now), the problem is Lance isn’t annoying. The problem is Lance is funny and brave and kind and good and _wonderful._ The problem is Lance seems to hate him, and Keith? Well, he thinks, fingers tightening in the now-familiar fabric, the smell of almond long gone, maybe wearing Lance’s jacket has been for more selfish reasons. But it doesn’t matter, anyway. Lance hates him. 

Keith turns his face into his pillow, closes his eyes against the bright flashes of gunfire, tries to ignore the echoing of Lance’s scream in his mind, and pretends he doesn’t notice when his pillow begins to dampen.

* * *

When it all comes to a head its been about a month. A month where Lance has walked around, arms bare to the world, and complained about his missing jacket. After catching Hunk wrap his arms around a visibly upset Lance one night before dinner and hearing his “we’ll find it, bro,” Keith realises it’s probably about time he proves that they haven’t actually lost it. Guilt settles in his stomach when he thinks about how Lance might actually miss the hoody.

Thumbing at the bottom of the jacket, he steps briskly into the main room, trying to look as though there is nothing wrong and that he’s always worn it. It might be easier if the jacket arms weren’t so long and his shoulders were a little less broad. Still, he slouches and shoves his hands in the hoody’s pockets and makes his way to where the rest of the team are eating dinner. 

Pidge spits out her goop noodles seconds after seeing him. Well, Keith thinks dryly, as he picks one off the material, off to a good start then.

“Hey,” he greets, pulling out a chair and slumping down next to Hunk who seems like he may be one second away from either bursting into tears or laughter. Keith can’t tell. 

“Um,” Shiro says, and then clears his throat. His face suddenly changes from shocked to ‘nope, don’t want to talk about it’, and Keith rolls his eyes. Well, so much for playing it smooth, he supposes. He reaches for his own goop bowl and tries not to make eye contact with Lance who has been suspiciously quiet. Instead he thanks Coran who seems a little confused but smiles nonetheless. 

“Sometimes I think I’ve actually fallen down the stairs at home and hit my head or something,” Pidge starts, “because there’s no fucking way that this is real life. Giant space cats I can accept, a war against aliens is fine with me, but Keith in Lance’s hoody? I’m sorry. Is this even reality anymore?” 

“I do _not_ want to talk about this,” Shiro says sternly, and immediately turns himself away from everyone in attempts to busy himself in his noodles. Allura seems concerned for a moment but not too phased. Finally, _finally_ , Lance speaks up.

“Um,” he says rather squeakily. “Um.” 

Keith looks up at him with the most bored expression he can muster, however, in reality he feels like he might vomit. He puts down his fork and places his hands on his lap to stop them from shaking. He’ll be honest, he didn’t really think this far ahead. It is kinda weird that he _stole_ Lance’s jacket for no reason and then lied about it. 

“That’s,” Lance stumbles through his words, cheeks a burning crimson. Keith catches himself staring at the flush spreading down his neck and has to forcefully drag his eyes away. “I mean, um. _Keith._ Do you even know …?” 

Keith blinks and, with one quick look at the table’s occupants discerns that no, he does not know. So he says nothing and simply tilts his head a little. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were dating Keith,” Hunk says faintly and just like that the blood rushes through Keith’s face, panic catching his heart in its unrelenting grip. The connotations that are attached to stealing and wearing someone’s hoody jump out at him like a horrible, horrible reminder. Oh God, he thinks absently as he tries not to pass out from embarrassment. He’s an idiot. A fucking idiot.

“I found your jumper?” He tries, but it comes out weak and raspy. 

Lance stares at him, mouth agape. “You … ‘found’ it … When, exactly?” 

“A … A month ago. On the back of the couch.”

“You found it a month ago. When I put it on the couch,” Lance repeats, and Pidge’s badly hidden laughter can’t even distract Keith from this mortifying revelation. Beside him, Shiro starts to laugh, shoulders shaking with the effort of being quiet. 

“That’s what I said, Lance. You can’t be that dumb.” His embarrassment bursts from him as anger, and he thinks, this is it, you’ve really fucked up this time, Kogane. Good one. Now the only thing Lance will smell on this is your blood once he blows your stupid head off. 

“You stole my jumper,” Lance says, instead. And slowly, but surely, his lips twitch and his stupid, gorgeous eyes almost seem to shine. He looks embarrassed, yes, but also hopeful and oddly shy. It does wonders to Keith’s already weak heart, and he ducks his head, sitting on his hands. 

“It smelled like you,” Keith blurts out and is promptly reminded once more, with Hunk’s weak, “Oh, God,” that they have an audience. “I just - It smelled like almonds and wood. Or earth. Like - It smelled nice and - I didn’t mean to just - You’re always such an asshole to me!” Voice taking on a more accusatory tone, he levels a glare at Lance.

Lance, however, can’t stop smiling. “You stole my hoody because it smelled like me. Dude,” he laughs, and his voice is so soft and Keith is so embarrassed and he can’t take this anymore, he honestly can’t. “Dude,” Lance repeats, and then he’s standing up and oh, great, _now_ Keith can die. Hands sweaty and heart lurching uncomfortably, he shoves his chair back and stands up. Then, without a word and feeling like the weight of a thousand gazes are on his back, he bolts. 

* * *

Keith isn’t a coward. He’s not. He’s an idiot, maybe, for not realising that _stealing a jacket because he likes the_ smell _of it_ is totally boyfriend behaviour, but he’s no coward, and so he only hides in his room for one day, rather than Lance’s customary three or four. Of course, his self-isolation isn’t brought to an end through his own devices. No. In fact, it’s because of a knock at the door. 

“Go away,” he says as nicely as he can, which means he grunts it out with a heavy scowl.

“Nah,” comes Lance’s familiar voice, and then the door is sliding open before Keith can say much more. “Thanks, Allura,” he hears Lance toss back down the corridor, which means she must have overrode his door. Great. 

“Hey,” Lance says and, because Keith isn’t a coward, he looks up. And promptly freezes. “Aw,” Lance says, oblivious to Keith’s dangerously fast heartbeat, “you’re not wearing my hoody anymore!” 

“ _Lance?_ ” Keith hears himself say as he pushes himself up off the bed. His jacket, the one which he hadn’t even realised wasn’t resting on his bedside cabinet open returning to the room earlier is draped over Lance’s upper half. It’s loose around the shoulders and a little too short in the arms. It’s the exact opposite of Lance’s hoody’s fit on Keith. Pleasure curls in his gut as does confusion. 

“It’s only fair,” Lance rushes to say, colour curling in his cheeks but determination visible in his eyes. “You wearing mine means I get to steal yours. Besides, it smells like sandalwood. It’s nice.”

Keith stares at him a moment and then carefully reaches down to pluck Lance’s discarded hoody off off the floor. “It doesn’t smell like almond anymore,” he says as he offers it to Lance. Lance’s hand folds around his own and he uses the fabric to tug Keith forward into his arms, the jacket crushed between them.

“It’s cool,” Lance murmurs, taking the chance to push their foreheads together. “It smells like you, right? So give me a few more days and this one will smell like me, and then we can swap back.” 

Keith tilts his head up the smallest amount; they’re roughly the same height, but the inch Lance has on him is somewhat annoying. “What if I don’t want to swap back?” He dares. 

Lance exhales shakily and Keith’s confidence rises. He takes a deep breath, grounds himself, and slips one arm around Lance’s waist, the other around Lance’s neck. 

“Babe,” Lance breathes as he leans forwards, their lips centimetres apart. “You can have whatever you want.” 

Keith laughs and runs his hands over the lines of the cropped jacket in an attempt to smooth it down across the plains of Lance’s shoulders and chest. The jackets are soon lost to the floor as Lance leans down and and kisses him, kisses him, _kisses him._

Lance’s hoody may not smell like almonds anymore but Lance does, and that is infinitely better.

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted on tumblr before i deactivated 
> 
> wow i really like my italics  
> this is kinda sloppy i know but i liked the prompt too much to pass up n im too tired to edit thanks xoxoxo


End file.
